


back then, we used to dream

by danishsweethearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Tension, based off neru's jailbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danishsweethearts/pseuds/danishsweethearts
Summary: The story of two boys trapped in a cage of a city. The story of how they grew together and longed for freedom. The story of how they fell apart, and fell away from one another.Based off of Neru'sJailbreakM/V. Highly recommend you watch it before reading this!





	back then, we used to dream

**Author's Note:**

> breaking in the new account with angst... every time i watch the jailbreak mv it makes me cry! i love iwaoi! sorry!
> 
> title is from jailbreak itself, using [Hazuki no Yume's translation](https://hazukinoyume.wordpress.com/2016/05/01/datsugoku/)
> 
>  
> 
> [ talk to me on tumblr! ](http://danishsweethearts.tumblr.com)

He breathes out.

The titian light, for once, seems gentle on his surroundings, casting the world into a still, amber crystallization.

The low lighting aids him in his quest; he is hidden by the shadows and softened by the lights, and it serves to add a dreamlike state to the hallways as he sneaks through him. The surreal sensation, the way he seems to be disconnected from his reality, only serves him further: he is unimpeded by fear or hesitation, not when he’s so numb he can barely feel his heart beating.

This has been years in the making. He cannot afford to be afraid.

_“Tooru,” he whispers and it rings large in the space that lies between the two. Tooru’s wrenches his eyes from the scene in front of him, and it’s just in time—another gunshot rings out and he trembles. With anger? With fear? He can no longer tell._

_Iwa-chan frowns at that. He steps a little closer, filling up more of Tooru’s vision—as if he isn’t all that Tooru sees anyway. He says “Hey, look at me,” confident and assured and gentle, and Tooru keeps his gaze steady even as another gunshot rings out._

_He still flinches, but Iwa-chan does as well._

_“Aren’t you scared, Iwa-chan?” Tooru asks. His voice is tiny and he feels so, so tiny in the face of this all._

_Then, Iwa-chan grabs his hand and he feels a little bigger, a little more stable. This is his truth: Iwa-chan is a miracle in motion, able to draw out all of the vulnerabilities and darkness and fear in Tooru without a hitch._

_Iwa-chan tells him, “I’m right beside you.”_

_And it’s true, hits home like everything Iwa-chan tells him does. He knows that with Iwa-chan beside him, he doesn’t have to be afraid. With his Iwa-chan beside him, they’re invincible._

_“We’re going to get out of here together,” Tooru says, pleads. It’s a bare breath of a sentence, kept muted so that they aren’t overheard, but Tooru feels how the words, the very concept they present, sink into his bones, etch themselves in ink and carving._

_They’re going to get out of there together._

Tooru closes his eyes and inhales, sucks the breath in through his teeth like it’ll filter out all the taint in this place. It doesn’t, but it helps him calm his suddenly thrashing heart. The alarms will have gone off by now. The guards will be upon him soon.

Soon, _he_ will be here.

This knowledge, more than the scrappy plane that sits in the hangar above him, more than the promise of blue skies outside of the city, sets him free.

His heart, ever loud and unruly, thrums out the name _Hajime_ . All he has to do now is wait for his call to be answered, and he knows that it will be. The landscape of their relationship has changed drastically from when they called each other _Tooru_ and _Iwa-chan_ , but Iwaizumi Hajime will always chase after Oikawa Tooru. No matter what form it takes: searching, seeking, reaching for, hunting down—the chase is what drives them.

Tooru hears the distant sound of footsteps, aided by the creaky metal structure of the building and the hollow, straight hallways. He’ll take a while to arrive yet, so Tooru lets himself indulge in something he rarely does. He lets himself remember.

_They sneak up the stairs, every step pressed achingly carefully as they ascended. They know every spot to avoid, every step that should be skipped and they map out their route with familiarity. This is not the first time this has happened. It will not be the last._

_Tooru heads up the pair, because he is lighter on his feet and quicker to react should somebody walk by. Sometimes he stops and throws a look behind him, appearing casual to any passing viewer. Of course, there are no passing viewers; it is just him and Iwa-chan. He cannot hide his true intentions from himself, and he cannot hide them from Iwa-chan._

_Their eyes meet and Iwa-chan rolls his eyes, miming smacking Tooru upside the head. Tooru can tell what he means easily, no words needed._ I’m right here, you can stop checking up on me _he says, with every rude gesture and exasperated look._

_Tooru still turns to look anyway, because he finds that his steps fall surer afterwards._

_Eventually, they reach the top of the building. The sun is going down, casting the city in a far more natural orange than the harsh, artificial one that fills his eyes usually. From here, they can almost make out the outside world, blurred by the tinted windows and walls that surround them. What they cannot see, they imagine; Tooru suggests a twirling blue river, then Iwa-chan will suggest clean grass-scented air, and it will devolve from there._

Bugs _, Iwa-chan says, while Tooru wrinkles his nose._

The wind _, Tooru says. Iwa-chan hums._

Mountains _is whispered._

 _A breath, then:_ stars _._

 _Then, together,_ freedom _._

Freedom, the elusive concept, has haunted Tooru for so very long. There is hope of freedom etched into the tiniest of things: found in the curves of his best friend’s smile, sketched onto whatever scrap paper they could pull together, safeguarded between two young boys’ clasped hands.

Hope of freedom, lost in the nebulous concept called _growing up_.

Tooru is alone now, with only some sketchy plane designs to keep him going through each day. Sometimes, even they, and the promise of freedom they bring, abandon him. Tooru has never been the one with the affinity with technology and innovation. He is all hard work and toiling, and it is only that that had allowed him to pull this together.

 _This_ , as in: a plane, more a glider than anything, built out of the dreams of children and endless nights spent figuring out what works and what does not. _This_ , as in: a childhood dream become adulthood delusion.

He does not let himself acknowledge this. Even now, he does not know whether it will fly or not. He is just so very tired of waiting.

Iwaizumi, with all of his mechanical prowess, would know.

Tooru catches himself wishing that Iwa-chan, the _Iwa-chan_ of his past and not the Iwaizumi of his present, had been there to help him. Unlike every other time he’s had this unsavoury feeling well up, he lets it happen. Lets the longing flow through him, never gone but strongly dammed up.

He figures, here, at the end of it all, he’s allowed to wish for things that could never be.

The footsteps are so close now, and Tooru has imagined and reimagined iterations upon iterations of this moment, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be prepared.

The door flies open and Iwaizumi Hajime, face stony and uniform donned, walks onto the scene.

Tooru adjusts his goggles, puts on his best face, and turns around with a smile. With his cap drawn down like that, Tooru can’t make out Iwaizumi’s eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He pushes through it, like he pushes through everything.

“Hajime,” he says, his voice echoing his heart.

At the call, Iwaizumi tilts his head up, only slightly, but it’s enough for Tooru to catch a flash of his deep green eyes.

It’s like seeing him for the first time all over again.

_“Hey! What are you doing!” is yelled, the sounds of frantic footsteps getting closer with every second._

_Tooru steps away from the railing in shock, swamped by sudden fears of discovery and punishment. However, when he turns around, there is no guard, no angry supervisor: just a boy his age._

_The boy says, voice trying not to pitch into hysterical tones, “That's dangerous! You can't—you shouldn't—it's dangerous!”_

_His green eyes are wide and terrified, and when Tooru follows his gaze to where he had been standing by the railing, he comes to a realization. He says “I wasn’t going to jump,”_

_This seems to calm the other boy a little, but the fear is still painted in the corners of his eyes and the downturn of his frown when he replies “It’s still dangerous, idiot. What are you even doing up here?”_

_Tooru shrugs. “I was looking,”_

_The boy seems to hesitate, casting his glance around as if to check for anybody listening in. He says, quietly, “Looking at what?”_

_Tooru grins, turning back to look out on the city. “The world,” he says, wistful, determined. Then, he corrects himself. “Well, this city isn’t much of the world. But I’ll fly out of here one day and then I’ll see it all.”_

_He forgets to be afraid somewhere along the line, of speaking such blasphemy and treason, even though he barely knows his audience. The boy behind him is silent for a long time, but Tooru just looks ahead, envisioning a brighter and bluer future than the one this city has planned for him._

_Finally, the boy speaks, and his voice is low and scornful but Tooru hears the promises that lay underneath. He scoffs “How are you going to fly? You don’t have wings,”_

_Tooru turns back, a smile on his face, feeling the promise of the future edge ever closer._

* * *

“Tooru,” he says. The name slips from his unwilling lips, summoned by the sight of Oikawa standing in front of him.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, a smile on his face. He looks resplendent. He looks beautiful. He looks—

Hajime stops himself from going down that road. It isn’t worth it.

“Ah,” Oikawa says, “so you do still remember me,”

It’s an obvious taunt, and one that Hajime will _not_ rise to, despite the disgust that twists up his insides at the thought of ever forgetting who Oikawa Tooru is. His expression carefully schooled, he meets Oikawa’s gaze and pretends his heart doesn’t falter.

He wants to say many things. If it were another time, he would ask _what are you doing? Where are you going? Why aren’t you taking me?_ but time is not a luxury they have anymore. Maybe when they were children, but certainly not now. He has to make this quick.

He says, “Stop what you’re doing and return to your home,”. He’s said them many times before, but the words have never felt so bitter on his tongue.

Oikawa’s eyes flash—a break in composure—and then he’s shrugging his shoulders in exaggerated motions.

“Oh Hajime,” he sighs, and it takes so much out of Hajime to not react to the name, “what am I going to do with you?”

“Follow my instructions,” Hajime snapped in reply. Oikawa’s grin twists at Hajime’s loss of composure and Hajime silently fumes at how quickly he had broken. After all this time, nobody gets under his skin like Oikawa. Taking in a breath, he continues with a level voice “It’s for your own good,”

Oikawa sneers, spitting poison. “Since when have you cared about what’s _good_ for me?”

 _Always_ , Hajime wants to say. Oikawa has always been so good at making him want things he can’t have. _I’ve always, always cared_. Keeping him out of trouble, removing his name from criminal records, convincing the others to have leniency; Hajime can’t remember a single damn thing he’s done in the past fifteen years that didn’t have Oikawa at the centre.

His silence is answer enough for Oikawa. Hajime can see it in how his eyes harden. It hurts, but it is nothing that he can’t bear. He’s lived with Oikawa’s scorn for ten years now.

He says, calm and collected and falling apart on the inside, “There are more guards coming. They won’t go so easy on you,”

It’s getting harder to hold Oikawa’s gaze. The orange lights cast strange shadows on his face and it makes Hajime see things he doesn’t want to: the hurt of abandonment, the sting of betrayal. Oikawa, who has spent the past few years building up his walls and reminding Hajime that he no longer has a place behind them, suddenly looks young. Conflicted. Vulnerable. And maybe it had been foolish, selfish, even, of Hajime to even think that Oikawa wouldn’t be, that he would overcome it somehow. God knows that Hajime lives with the hurt anew every day; how would Oikawa be feeling?

Hajime, with lead at his feet, takes a step forward and changes tack. He says “Oikawa, please,” and watches the way anger and hurt wrench Oikawa’s expression, the way he balls his hands and takes a step back.

Oikawa hisses “Fuck you,”, his voice shaking, “you don’t get to _do this_ to me,”

He’s right. Hajime has no right to this over Oikawa anymore, but Oikawa has no right to this over Hajime anymore either, so it’s even. As always, they are even.

Hajime hears footsteps coming ever closer and he knows that it’s now or never. Desperation fuels him because if Oikawa goes through with, with whatever scheme he has planned this time, Hajime doesn’t think he can get him out of it. He needs to leave before it’s too late.

He pieces his willpower together and keeps Oikawa’s gaze and raises his gun.

“Tooru, please,” he murmurs. Oikawa gives a broken laugh.

“ _Hajime, please_ ,” he mocks, “you wouldn’t shoot me.” He says this like he knows it’s true, like he _trusts_ it’s true. And he’s right. It is true. Hajime has hurt Oikawa in many ways in their lives, but never like this.

The shouts of the other guards can be heard clearly now. Oikawa grins at Hajime, something jagged and sharp, and then he’s snapping his goggles over his eyes and taking off. He starts the ascent up the stairs and it catches Hajime off-guard, making him lose precious seconds of pursuit because Hajime knows where Oikawa is heading. Hajime thinks he knows what Oikawa is planning.

“Oikawa!” He calls, running up the stairwell two at a time. The knowledge has been worn by years and years of stagnation but his mind still remembers which steps to skip, which spots to avoid, as he takes the stairs two at a time. The only thing at the top of this building is a balcony and a plane hangar, and Hajime doubts that Oikawa is going up to admire the view.

It leaves only one, chilling, foreboding possibility. He ignores the memories that chase him up the stairwell and redoubles his efforts, determined to catch Oikawa before he can do something unbelievably idiotic.

_“What’s that?” Oikawa asks, leaning on Hajime’s shoulder to peer at his workspace in a classic show of disrespect to personal space. Of course, Hajime doesn’t mind, but he makes a show of shrugging Oikawa off anyway._

_“It’s a design for a plane,” Hajime replies, gruff and fond. Oikawa_ oohs _and_ ahhs _over the sketch, tracing each line with intensity._

_“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, his voice full of reverence, “this is amazing,”_

_Hajime feels warmth creep up his neck and he pushes Oikawa a little further away, finding it a little hard to breathe with the proximity. He shrugs, looking down at the design as he says “It’s not much,”_

_Oikawa protests immediately. “Don’t say that! This is amazing, Iwa-chan! How did you make this?” The admiration in Oikawa’s voice, plain like his emotions rarely ever are, makes Hajime flush even warmer._

_“Picked some of it up while my dad was still around,” he mumbles, still unable to meet Oikawa’s eyes. “The rest is just guesses… I don’t really know what I’m doing. Maybe when I’m older I can improve it,”_

_Oikawa hums, and Hajime finally makes himself look at him. His best friend still has his eyes trained on the design, the want in his eyes only made bearable by the fact that Hajime didn’t have to deal with it directly._

_Spurred on by the fact that Oikawa is so distracted, Hajime voices what’s weighing down his tongue. “You wanted to fly out of here, so I figured this would make it easier,” he mumbles._

_It’s a mistake, because Oikawa immediately turns to him, his mouth falling open and his eyes shining brighter than anything Hajime has seen in this rusted city. The sheer delight on Oikawa’s face is adrenaline-inducing, making Hajime’s heart race and his hands sweat as he takes in the brilliance of it all._

_Hajime realizes he would do anything to keep that look on Oikawa’s face, to keep Oikawa safe and alive and beautiful_.

He bursts onto the top level of the building, where Oikawa is climbing into a scrappy, barely pieced together excuse for a plane. Hajime can clearly see the echoes of his old design that he made _as a child_ and the panic takes over and keeps him drowning.

“Tooru, wait,” he yells, trying to shout over the noise of the engine starting up. It doesn’t sound good. The design that he had given then Oikawa wouldn’t have even been functional, so Oikawa had obviously made adjustments, but Oikawa had always been terrible at mechanics. He’s sitting in a plane created by a child who didn’t know better and an adult who didn’t know better and he _won’t fucking listen_ , has _never fucking listened_ , and Hajime thinks that this is what he had been afraid of all along.

The smoke from the engine clears. Oikawa is sitting in the pilot’s seat now. The look on his face reminds Hajime so clearly of a look he once had, when he had been a boy leaning over the railing and looking over the city.

Hajime had been so afraid back then, and he is so afraid now.

He finds control over his limbs again and he’s running across the tarmac, hand reached out in a desperate attempt to reach out for Oikawa. Oikawa has that faraway, wistful look on his face and Hajime is terrified, because this time he has the power to fly away from Hajime. This time, he is not an easily dissuaded boy with half-baked dreams.

This time, Hajime might just lose his grip.

Oikawa turns his head to look at Hajime. He is smiling. He looks delighted, above it all, unreachable. He looks like all Hajime has wanted him to be: happy, free, alive. They meet eyes and Hajime recognizes the look for what it is.

It’s a goodbye. Oikawa pulls the throttle and despite Hajime’s hopes that it wouldn’t, the plane shoots off into the sky.

“ _Tooru_!” he screams, one last time.

Oikawa does not look back.

Hajime knows that it’s not going to last. Oikawa’s laughter soars above the rattling sound of the engine and Hajime knows that it’s not going to last.

With hitched breaths and shining eyes, Hajime watches as the plane shuttles onwards, heading towards the metal and glass that surround the city. He waits for the impact and when it comes, it is more reverberating, more encompassing than Hajime could have ever imagined. Through all of the dust and smoke and rubble, he watches as the plane, as _Oikawa_ , continues onwards, and he sees the first blue sky of his life. The sunshine strikes him where he stands.

Hajime’s eyes sting, from the tears or from the dust or a mixture of both, but he does not look away. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful. He’s never seen a colour so vibrant and Oikawa and his plane are painted against this sprawling, stunning backdrop: a vision of a better life.

Even when the blue is blotted out by billowing red and orange and grey, even when his eyes swim so strongly with tears that all the colours blur into one, he does not look away.

Among all the debris and flame, he thinks he sees a pair of goggles glint in the sunlight as they fall down, down, down, out of his reach.


End file.
